


Rosy Endeavors

by opaliaus



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-Dragon Age: Origins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-30 10:52:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12652140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opaliaus/pseuds/opaliaus
Summary: Alistair wasn’t sure of what his life would have been if he were to live it as a templar, aside from the fact that he would have hated it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> written for day one of #alistair week // warden alistair
> 
> typical reunion fic (may be continued)

He would come to love service. 

At least, that’s what the mothers told him. He just needed to trust in the Maker, to repeat the Chant of Light to himself and believe that his purpose would drive his acts as a templar. 

Alistair wasn’t sure of what his life would have been if he were to live it as a templar, aside from the fact that he would have hated it. At the time he’d disliked every aspect of his life, so it wasn’t as though things could get any worse when Duncan had come along to offer Alistair something he’d craved. The Grey Wardens had been unlike anything he’d known in his young life, something to be passionate about: a force devoted to saving the world in a truly tangible manner. 

He supposed, in a way, the mothers had been right. He  _ had _ come to love service - the service of all, no matter their race or religion or magical affinity. The sacrifice wasn't one that could be made by anyone. Those with little else in life came to the order, though Alistair had committed no crime. As little as he cared for it, there would have been a small bit of prestige granted to him had he become a full fledged templar, Ser Theirin, odd as it was to consider himself as such. (Better than being a king, certainly, now that he knew that had been an option, outlandish as it was.) Nothing in his life had gone the way Alistair had imagined, mostly because he had never dared to think of the possibilities that had become his reality. He was a warrior, a hero in his own right. Battle worn and determined to maintain the order as long as he could, until Ferelden's hero could return. 

It was difficult, being in charge. Training, traveling, doing his best to clean up the persistent remnants of the Fifth Blight. Alistair couldn't imagine how he still came to hear pleas of people who were still plagued by darkspawn, but he went to them dutifully, working to suppress the threat and lingering to help the communities rebuild. It always amused Alistair to recall that there had once been a time when he’d feared the blood on his blade. Even then, something about the kill felt right.

Not in a perverse way - he wasn’t  _ proud _ of killing, not the act itself. Not so much as he was impressed by the use of his skill. The ease of his confidence, the swell of his chest to know that the slain enemy at his feet meant somewhere, an innocent person had a bit more of a chance to make their way back to their family. Because of him, a child might never be separated from their parents. A mother might never have to abandon their son.

It may have been self-righteous, but in the moment, Alistair was proud. Satisfied, for once, by his actions. It had never been the same in the Chantry, where he couldn’t seem to devote himself enough. The act of the Joining alone required giving his entire self to the cause. One day he might fall to the song, but every day until then he would be doing his best to better the world that had never thought to give him much.

Aside from her.

Years of this and still his stomach clenched when they found each other. Before leaving the Inquisition, Leliana had given him an idea of where the Hero of Ferelden might be, but Alistair had expected her to have moved on by the time he arrived. The warden cutting down her enemies was likely someone else, another stray warden that had somehow managed not to buckle to the persistent song that had driven so many others to their doom.

The fight was instinctive, moving around one another, parrying a blow, side stepping a foe, shifting in time to allow the beautifully violent elf by his side to launch herself at darkspawn. It had been a while since he'd really watched her fight, but he knew all her moves. He knew now that the swears that tore out of her were just exhilaration, not pain. She was perfectly capable of caring for herself and he could do the same. He  _ had _ done the same, for ages now, pretending the shadows he cast while fighting were her by his side. It had been too long since he'd heard from her, the letter sent to the Inquisition one he'd memorized and used to reinforce the last memory he had of her.

But when the hoard was gone, he saw her, bowed and breathing heavily, leaning on the sword stuck in the earth. “Sina?” Fighting alongside her was so natural at this point that Alistair had almost forgotten how long it had been. She looked the same as when he'd seen her last, but closer inspection had him overwhelmed by the way she held herself, the quivering smile, the wet eyes. The bright, relieved smile.

“Long time no see.” 

Alistair laughed helplessly as he hurried to her, meeting her in a ruinous cacophony of armor and limbs. One of them groaned in pain, hurt from the battle or their careless embrace, he wasn't sure. He only cared to kiss her, lifting her into his arms and grinning broadly as she tore off her gloves to touch his face. “Do I look any different?”

“I don't know,” Sina laughed. Her fingertips tickled his face, her own smile dimming as she lingered over a scar. “This is new.”

“I walked into a door,” Alistair dismissed, laughing again when Sina rolled her eyes. “It's nothing to worry about. There's nothing to worry about anymore.” He watched her fondly as she nodded, setting her down on her feet in time to be knocked down by her mabari. 

“Hello to you!” Sina wheezed, floundering beneath the dog's weight as he licked her face. “I see Alistair's been feeding you well. Maker, is he heavy.”

“Still in fighting shape,” Alistair huffed defensively. He reached to take Sina's flailing arm, pulling her up to her feet and smiling again as she knocked her knuckles against his hip. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Sina sighed. She rose to the tips of her toes and Alistair took the hint to kiss her again, bowing over her as he gripped her waist, yielding to his loneliness, greeting her earnestly as she laughed into his mouth. “No,” she shook her head when he pulled away to rest his forehead against hers, her eyes crossing slightly as she looked at him. Alistair couldn't help from chuckling softly at the expression. He closed his eyes when he felt Sina's fingers against his chin, drawing him into another slow, hot, gratuitous kiss. She didn't speak the words, but he knew what she was promising.  _ I'll never leave you again. _

Still, he had to know if this time apart - precious in a life not guaranteed - had been worthwhile. 

“I've found it,” Sina whispered between salty kisses. Alistair wasn't sure if they were her tears or his, but it didn't matter, not in this moment. She was changing his life yet again, giving him the opportunity to imagine a new reality. One where they might grow old together, one where they could outlive the madness. “I found the cure, Alistair.”

“I knew you would.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for day three of #alistair week // angst

His heart was still racing, his face sore from his fixed grin. It smelled terribly, the tainted blood of the darkspawn enough to make him wretch or worse had he eaten recently. It was as though his senses had dulled from his loss. Every memory of how to feel something other than the trepidation plaguing him was returning. His head was pounding. His body ached. He'd walked too far, eager to find any trace of Sina. Now that she was here, everything was starting to settle. His pains, physical and emotional, rushing back to remind him of reality. 

She’d want to know of everything that had happened since her departure. Suddenly, Alistair could recall every aching moment. His tears and his shouts and his swears. His reflection in mirrors, haunted and shallow. His brief considerations of making sure he never saw her again, so she’d never need to know the truth. Not from him.

“How's Duncan?” 

It had been too long since he'd spoken their son's name. Alistair almost buckled to hear it, bewildered by the casual way with which Sina spoke of their boy. He'd grown a lot in her absence, from the sickly infant they’d found starved and abandoned. They'd nursed him back to health, adopted him as their own, became every little bit of what Alistair had always hoped for as a child.

He couldn’t bring himself to answer right away, instead flashing a practiced smile in Sina’s direction. She’d know something was wrong, the instinctive nature of a mother, and the sick tremble of his lips. She’d only asked for one thing, for Alistair to take care of himself and Duncan. To try not to miss her too much, because she’d be sure to return soon so they could be a family again. Not that they were any less of one while they were apart. 

Duncan had looked around for days with his wide eyes, searching silently for his mother. Soon enough he'd gained the words to speak, toddling around Vigil’s Keep faster than Alistair thought possible for the tiny child. He’d been happy enough under Alistair’s care, smiling and laughing and growing.

And then he became ill.

“He's grown,” Alistair chuckled weakly. “So… so much. He speaks.”

“Really? Andraste's arse,” Sina breathed. Alistair's gaze lingered over her small smile. He felt sick to lie but he didn't want to ruin their reunion. Not yet. Thinking about it reminded him of how close to madness he’d come, employing every mage he could find. Too many had told him the boy’s spirit was lost in the fade. One had offered what Oghren had claimed  _ unreasonable _ _methods_ to restore the child’s life. 

Alistair wished now that the dwarf hadn’t been present to intervene. 

“He wouldn't know who I was if he were to see me.”

“He'd know,” Alistair argued softly. He'd told Duncan too many stories about his mother, the Hero of Ferelden. He was young, Alistair had never been a father to children to know how much they understood or recalled, but if he was capable: Duncan knew his mother had his ears, had green eyes like him, and loved him dearly. He’d even asked for her after one terribly long bedtime story, though he asked for “Papa” more often. “He's safe,” Alistair added, watching Sina as she wiped the flat of the sword’s blade against the grass. He could see how tired she was now, the darkness beneath her eyes concerning. He wasn’t sure they could survive her tears, be it her exhaustion or his heart. 

“I had no doubts leaving him with you.” She smiled as she touched his arm. “You're a wonderful father. You'd do anything for him.” Her smile wavered when Alistair refused to meet her eyes, staring instead towards the horizon, his posture fixed and his breathing slow. “Alistair?” 

He shifted his gaze towards the ground and whistled for the dog to follow as he started walking.

“Alistair.”

Sina didn’t follow, standing instead to watch him retreat. Alistair inhaled deeply before sighing, raising a hand towards his face when his vision blurred. He shook his head slowly, shoulders sagging suddenly beneath the unbearable weight of his armor. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“What?”

He turned to meet her, hair loose and wild from the fight, eyes darting in panic, searching for the source of disturbance. Alistair blinked as he glanced upwards, sighing out a loud breath. He felt empty, suddenly. Empty but caught in a knot of anger and sadness like he had when Duncan had fallen sick. Every waking moment he’d prayed, to Andraste, to the Maker, to the gods of the elves and the dwarves and whatever benevolent spirits walked the realm. He’d offered his life, offered his service, came too close to trying to invoke demons. If only Duncan could live, if only he could survive for Sina to see him again. Children died every day, there was no guarantee he’d live to adulthood when they’d found him, but for all that was good in this world - for all that they had  _ given _ this world - Sina had deserved to be with her boy. To hold him, to kiss him, to make it all easier.

For him or for Duncan, Alistair wasn’t sure. He’d just needed her there. He’d needed his family together again before he lost it. 

“Alistair.”

He wanted to turn away from her again but he was crippled by her voice, too small to ever belong to his wife. The woman who could likely pick a fight with a mountain and win. The woman who had saved countless lives. The woman who had no fear - or so her people liked to say. It was obvious now that she was just a mortal, a small, trembling mass of bones like the rest of them. But through it all, she had her anger. It grounded her, grew within her, made her as vicious as the largest of warriors. He had had the pleasure of seeing it on the battlefield, comforted to know nothing could happen to him as long as he stood in its shadow.

Now he had the misfortune of watching it flicker to life.

“What happened.” 

“H-He… He got ill again, like when we found him,” Alistair admitted quietly. He was too ashamed to apologize, too tired to maintain the space between them when Sina stepped forward with all the black grace of a predator. The sadness would come, once the fever of irritation broke. He knew it was there, just at the edge, waiting for her to start picturing the details of their boy’s demise. The moment she thought of him in the bed, unsure of what his face looked like after a few years of growth. The moment she wondered of his funeral, of who had been with him in his final moments, of the wardens who might have come to be his aunts and uncles. “He had a fever.”

“When.”

“Before I left for the Inquisition. Before… So much happened afterwards. Everything was happening, I barely had time to process it myself, I…”

“He was in pain.”

“For a while.”

She was collapsing right in front of him, shrinking into her armor somehow until she lost the strength to stand and fell hard onto her knees. Alistair hurried towards her, wincing when her fists found his shoulders, beating at him until he was sent sprawling back. He watched her as she tore at the grass, struggling to pull herself up to her feet. She managed a few shaky steps before collapsing again, her loud sobs tearing through the dead space around them until she could cover her mouth with her hands. Alistair sighed as he got up to join her, pulling her into his embrace even as she tried to shout at him. 

“I’m sorry.” Alistair’s voice was strained, struggling to rise to his lips past the tightness of his throat. His own tears wetting his face as he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Sina. I tried. I wasn’t a good father, but I tried.” He smoothed a hand over her hair, watching sadly as she tried to calm herself enough to stop shaking. “I know you would have done better, had you been with him.”

“He was a sick boy,” Sina whispered. He’d just been getting over his illness when she left, just barely healthy enough to laugh and smile when they played with him or sang to him. She hadn’t witnessed all the things Alistair had, hadn’t been able to see the instant decline. It made some sense to her, that it was possible, but Alistair was sure he’d just done something wrong. Something unforgivable. “Oh, Duncan…” 

“I’m sorry. I- I tried everything, I had every healer I could find, but it was so fast, I- Maker, I-”

“Shh,” Sina closed her eyes and lifted her salty fingers to his lips. She brushed her fingers outwards, smearing his own tears across his cheeks before drawing her thumbs down the lines of his jaw and ending to pinch his chin. “Stop, Alistair. You aren’t responsible.” She let her hands fall to his shoulders and down to his chest where she rested her head against him. “Sometimes children die. I know he was happy with you, as long as he had you. I know you were a good father.”

“Not good enough, I couldn’t-”

“Please, Alistair. Please stop.” Sina tipped her head back to look up at him. The anger had broken, but he still wasn’t eager to meet her gaze. “He was fortunate to have you for what little time he had here. You loved him, you cared for him, you could make him giggle for hours.” She sighed as she covered her face again. “Will you tell me more about him? We should go,” Sina huffed as she shifted out of Alistair’s embrace, pressing a hand to the ground to push herself up before offering Alistair her hand. “You can be sad, Alistair, but I won’t allow it if you think Duncan’s gone because you did something wrong. I know you loved him enough for the both of us. I know you did as I asked, that you took care of him.” She wiggled her fingers impatiently when Alistair didn’t move to stand, staring at her instead. After all these years it was still fascinating to see her tuck away irrelevant feelings to deal with the matter at hand - the matter being comforting him, it seemed. “It’s the natural order, love.” She grunted as he clasped her hand, leaning back to support his weight as he pulled himself up with a tired, desperate laugh. “You tell me about my boy on the way, okay?”

“He really could laugh for hours.”


End file.
